Again
by TheMortalShadows
Summary: People: Weak. Naive. Strange. He likened them to sheep. And then he'd laugh as he watched out the window and wondered why he couldn't go out and run around too. And he remembered that he wasn't like them. OC story.


**Okay...Since all y'all know (Meaning Jillessa Heronstairs and SilverJem5) that I like writing about Cole, I wrote...another one...Sorry, I moved way too fast but I was impatient.**

 **So, the regular font is just the past for him as a child but the italics are...hard to explain. It's like his thought process in the italics. I don't know how to describe it. But you guys can figure it out...**

 **Also, the song I used for the transition lyrics is Sleep by MCR.**

 **Like...I love MCR and the song is PERFECTION when it comes to Cole. :)**

 ** _Jouissez_**

 **~~ _Like last night, they are not like tremors, they are worse than tremors~~_**

Chin up.

Suit up.

Back straight.

Act natural.

"You're looking dreadfully _morne_. Do eat your food. _La servante_ is working hard to keep you _joyeux_." The foster mother had said. She gave him a warm smile, though it often seemed to him that she was anything but that. She loved him, as she had to, but she was too...different. Strict was one way to put her, but he rather liked calling her a ' _conservatrice fou_ ', or a crazy conservative. In short, she was born in the wrong period in the wrong time and would have suited any time before the French Revolution much better.

Cole, on the other hand, pushed his food around his plate with a fork. As a knowledgeable nine year old who took more to reading books in the library on political unrest, he was hardly the type to follow through with much obedience, which, to his dismay, was a substantial part of his foster mother's belief. Not to mention he was less inclined to listen to her since his tie was awfully uncomfortable. He never understood why he had to dress up everyday, but his foster parents assured him that it was in his blood to act posh, look posh, and be a posh example of the upper class.

He assured them that the mental asylum for posh people would have an open place for him.

When his foster mother said another thing to him, this time all in French, he stared at her cluelessly before starting to eat in surrender. Glancing around, he sighed at the decadent and expensive taste, though he told himself he would grow used to it. "Madame L'Reaux." He said, an excessive amount of sarcastic politeness dripping from his tone. "May I be excused to go to the study?"

"I do wish you would call me _mère._ " She said in disapproval, though she gave a nod.

"Well, I can't." Cole said, standing up and putting his napkin on the table. A curl of his hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it out and back.

"Well, whyever not?"

He started to walk away, smart enough to know to get away before she got mad. After all, no one ever listened to a child. "My parents are dead, if you haven't noticed."

She pressed her mouth into a tight line, rising to her feet. "Don't use that attitude with me...Cole. Come back here. _Tout de suite_!"

But he just walked away, knowing it was disrespectful.

He was like that.

 **~~ _they are these terrors. And it's like, it feels like as if somebody was gripping my throat and squeezing_ ~~**

 _People:_

 _Weak. Naive. Strange._

 _He likened them to sheep._

 _And then he'd laugh as he watched out the window and wondered why he couldn't go out and run around too._

 _And he remembered that he wasn't like them._

 **~~ _Some say, now suffer all the children and walk away a savior_ ~~**

"Keep practicing." His tutour would say. "You're not doing it right. You've been softened. How can you ever be a good Shadowhunter?"

Cole scowled, picking up his dagger and moving to throw again, hitting it on one of the inner rings.

"Again."

Picking up a dagger, he looked up at his tutour, who was staring down at him and making him feel impossibly short. Standing back on the line that marked the twenty foot line, he drew his arm back before snapping forward, hitting the target superbly in the center. He looked over at his tutour, expecting to see some sort of encouragement or content in his expression, but he just motioned for him to repeat.

"Most Shadowhunters your age are close to getting their First Marks."

Another dagger hit the target and Cole stared at it before picking up another one, his blonde hair falling into his face as it curled in the humidity of the training room. His gear was uncomfortable, and slightly- but unnoticeably- too big, as he was a slight and lithe child.

"Now repeat it."

The dagger embedded itself in the painted wood, close to the other daggers that were already present.

"Again."

He reach over for a dagger, feeling it before throwing it.

"Again."

He fumbled this time, picking it up, and it was like a small, bloody paper cut on his fingertip. It didn't hurt.

"Again."

Numbly, he threw another one. He guessed he didn't really care how many times he had to throw it anymore.

"Again."

In rare obedience, he continued the pattern before going to collect the daggers.

"Again."

He wanted to be a good Shadowhunter.

Desperately.

So he threw them again.

 **~~ _Or a madman and polluted from gutter institutions._ ~~**

 _Foster Parents:_

 _Disposable. Fake._

 _His current foster parents, he guessed, weren't too bad._

 _They cared for him at least and they had been better than his previous foster parents._

 _But he never really cared anyway._

 **~~ _Don't you breathe for me, undeserving of your sympathy,_ ~~**

Of all leaders in the past, Cole quite admired Alexander the Great.

Not only was he a formidable leader of an empire but his drive to succeed overwhelmed his competition. He was smart and wasn't afraid to take on challenges. Not to mention, as Cole read in one of the mundane books he had stolen from a local library, Alexander the Great hardly ever lost a war or battle. Cole assumed he could have taken over the world if he hadn't had a few key weaknesses, like overshooting and drinking.

He also admired, much to his parents approval, Napoleon Bonaparte, who was a French emperor that brought power to France. As a former military general, Napoleon, Cole observed, had everything that he needed to succeed. It had always confused him as to why he fell twice when he was regarded as a genius. It wasn't until he had reread the book on Alexander the Great that he realized that the drive to win wasn't always a good thing.

It had confused him even more.

Weren't taking risks and trying to win good things?

He vowed, in the corner of the library alone, that he would be better than the two emperors and that he would be great. He didn't understand till later that it was an unrealistic expectation. People like him couldn't be great, he found, and that was that.

Even so, he took to reading more on history and on topics that he found interesting, though normal ten year olds- well, almost ten- found incredibly boring. He quite enjoyed learning Latin and was near fluent, unlike many children who wouldn't understand the first thing the books said. But he understood them and enjoyed them more than regular, useless novels.

He couldn't understand why people didn't want to know facts.

But preferred to read about pain.

 **~~ _Cause there ain't no way that I'm sorry for what I did._ ~~**

 _Liars:_

 _Cunning. Smart. Not very moral._

 _He wondered what being moral meant but it was too big a topic._

 _Why did he have to be moral?_

 _Liars were people, he supposed, and he wondered if he was a liar because he was a person._

 _But he wanted to be more than one._

 **~~ _And through it all, how could you cry for me?_ ~~**

Swinging his legs, Cole looked up at his foster parents, who were seated across from him.

"Now, son-"

"I'm not your son." Cole protested. "I haven't even lived here for more than two years."

His foster father sighed, rubbing his wrists where his marks were. Cole stared at the runes. "Look, Cole. Your mother and I have decided that we're moving out of _Marseille_ and going to Italy." Cole was astonished. Italy? "But..." His foster father continued and looked over at his wife uncomfortably, whom Cole could not decipher. She looked, in the best words Cole could think of, rather French.

"But..?" Cole said, frowning expressively.

"But we cannot take you with us." His foster father finished, looking devastated.

"Oh..." It wasn't that Cole was attached to his foster parents, as they had only focused on doting over him and teaching him manners and Shadowhunting, but he was sick of moving. Fostered at three, he had already been placed at five foster homes and it was tiring to keep moving. "Well, I suppose that's okay..?" He said, looking down at his shoes and thinking about all the things he would have to bring on his next moving trip.

" _Je suis dèsolée, me pardonner._ " His foster mom said, reaching forward to put a hand tenderly on his head and pat his hair. "We wish we could have you come with us, but this sort of Shadowhunting business is important and we don't want you getting hurt. You're not old enough yet."

"Yeah...I know. I'm never old enough." He scowled slightly, crossing his arms.

His foster father cleared his throat. "So, we've decided that we're going to leave you with your tutour."

At this, he looked up in protest. "What?"

"You're going to move to an Institute." His father explained. "You've lived in our house and, as good as I think isolation and independence is, you need some more opportunities for interaction. Although we've modified our house to meet the needs of Shadowhunters, it's not the same and the Institute has what you need and more. We might not be back for a few years...But we have already spoken to your tutour."

Cole stared at his shoes, giving a nod. "So you're just leaving?"

"Oh, Cole, do lift your chin." His foster mother said. "Looking so down is very lower class. Under the _bourgeoisie_. And posture!"

He scowled slightly but straightened up, annoyed with their constant views of him as a child, though he was one. He never really felt like it, though. His foster father gave a sigh. Cole had always like him less even though he hardly had an annoying accent and spoke fluent english; his foster mother was at least more organized and sincere. "Well, we do have some things your mother and I would like you to do."

"Which would be-?"

"We want you to sign up for the Shadowhunter Academy." He said, his brows furrowed. "And go to school there and train with your tutour on breaks. You won't be able to go until your twelve, so I suspect you'll be on the top of your classes when you do go."

Cole nodded.

He had no choice but to agree.

 **~~ _Cause I don't feel bad about it._ ~~**

 _Family:_

 _Guardians. Teachers._

 _But...no...they were...abandoners? Cole didn't know what to call them._

 _So instead he just called them ephemeral._

 **~~ _So shut your eyes_ ~~**

His foster mother had pulled him to her chest when a car had come to pick him up and take him by portal.

She had patted his head and expressed the fact that she would miss him and that, though they had only watched after him for a little over two years, he was smart and unique. Cole inwardly sighed and wanted to call her fake. He wasn't really good at reading her though and put up with her hug, feeling like a toddler. He was, after all, ten. Which, in his eyes, was almost an adult.

The parting had followed another all to familiar portal trip with his tutour.

Though there was an Institute in _Marseille,_ which was the city Cole had lived in, he found himself in Oslo instead.

Not knowing a hint of Bokmål, the language of Oslo, Norway, Cole found himself alone, mostly. But he didn't mind. He had his books to entertain him and his tutour to keep him busy. Not that he liked it. But he got used to it till he could find the training room from his own bedroom with his eyes closed. There he spent most of his time, involuntarily, and practiced with daggers again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

It was in there that he had gotten his First Marks quite unceremoniously. There was no celebration like all the other kids his age. No one cared anyway. And when he would have to head to the dining hall to eat, he would hear bits and pieces of foreign dialect and he wondered if they spoke of him. He knew that he didn't look too different from them but it was obvious that he was different. He wondered for a while why he and his private tutour had moved to the Oslo Institute instead of the one in _Marseille_ until it occurred to him that there were hardly any demons.

 _Of course,_ he thought. _They don't trust me to be safe._

His foster mother wrote him letters sometimes, and he almost liked that she worried for him, but she was annoying at points. And she wrote immensely and wished for him to come back when they were done with their Shadowhunting business. Cole just wished to be back in France.

However, he hadn't grown attached to France, as he had gone many places, like Moscow, Cardiff, Melbourne, and Manila. Never to America, though, and he longed to go.

Freedom was enticing just as entrapment was frightening.

But what would a ten year old know about fear?

 **~~ _Kiss me goodbye~_ ~**

 _Fear:_

 _A tangible-...No...Physical...No...Mental mistake in a person._

 _Fear, Cole knew, could be overridden._

 _Like it was a program that he just had to delete, but he didn't have to._

 _He didn't understand the feeling anyway._

 **~~ _And sleep. Just sleep._ ~~**

"You know, your great grandfather was a highly ranked noble."

"So?"

"Your father was a very rich, respectable man."

"So?"

"You would have disgraced them with this talk." His tutour growled, nudging him hard in the back. Cole scowled back and picked up a dagger. Now, it was an easy routine. Pick the dagger up. Throw it. See where it lands. Be criticized. Pretend to care. Repeat. And every time the dagger would land smack dab in the middle and he never felt proud. There wasn't a point in being proud when he had to do it over and over and over again.

 _Pick the dagger up._ His fingertips were cut from all the accidental mistakes he made. He would get careless sometimes, and he'd end up cutting himself. They never hurt, no, but his tutour would get slightly agitated at his carelessness and scold him.

 _Throw it._ His shoulder was sore, but he had learned that physical pain was just a stronger version of mental pain that could be shut down. If he stopped thinking about it, it would disappear entirely.

 _See where it lands._ Predictably, it landed in the center, creating more deep, thin cuts into the wood. He was always unimpressed.

 _Be criticized._ If the tutour couldn't find something wrong in his poise, he would make something up. He was a proud man, though he was no older than twenty five, and was obviously a Lightwood. Lightwoods were always proud, blunt creatures.

 _Pretend to care._ At everything, Cole would nod emotionless, having listened to the same mantra for years.

Repeat.

Again.

And again.

And again.

 **~~ _The hardest part is letting go of your dreams._ ~~**

 _Sacrifice:_

 _When someone is willing to put everything on the line._

 _When they will do anything._

 _Be anything._

 _Give up anything._

 _But in the end, Cole knew in honesty, no one wanted to sacrifice._

 ** _~~A drink for the horror that I'm in, For the good guys, and the bad guys, For the monsters that I've been.~~_**

It was clear that, at the Institute, no one really liked him.

Everyone seemed to get hurt around him and so he pushed them away.

He didn't want them to trust him.

While being forced to fight some younger boy in the training room, he had stabbed a dagger cleanly through his opponent's hand and pinned it to the wall. Later, Cole had been disgusted by the blood on his clothes and hands and everyone around him seemed disgusted too. His tutour didn't look happy, nor angry, but instead made him train more until he was at his limits. He hated it when Cole looked weak so he sent him to his bedroom before he snapped from the pressure.

Cole heard some people call him ' _vill_ '.

He only learned later that it meant savage.

~~ _ **Three cheers for tyranny**_ ~~

 _The Oslo Institute:_

 _Not terrible. Sheltered. Too...nice?_

 _Cole wasn't sure what to call it so he just shrugged it off and wandered._

 _It didn't fit him at all._

 _Perhaps he'd move._

 **~~ _Unapologetic apathy, Cause there ain't no way that I'm coming back again_ ~~**

Though he had been on a demon hunt before, Cole still felt edgy around such creatures.

His tutour had notified him of an Agramon near a small town and Cole was astonished that he trusted him with a Greater Demon. Of course, his tutour would be coming with him but Cole was almost...delighted. It was clear he hated his tutour but he grew to love the feeling of a knife under his fingertips. He supposed that the more you grew to hate something, the more you needed it. Like sin.

But his tutour told him that he was a few weeks away from the age he could apply at the Shadowhunter Academy, which was eleven and a half, and that having fought a Greater Demon would make him more impressive. So with a stele in his weapons belt and a seraph blade in his hand, he headed to the demon's whereabouts. He wasn't scared, even though the demon was the one of fear.

It was cold out and he tightened his jacket around him as he hurried down an alley, comfortable in his invisibility glamour. With only a witchlight to light his way in the dark streets, he watched his tutour follow him closely but wouldn't dare ask for help.

He didn't want to look as if he didn't know what he was doing, but he was starting to give up hope. Seeing his sensor flash on every turn they made only to dim the next, Cole was confused. Until it started to glow and thrum wildly. And then Cole looked up and saw a figure. Just a shadowed figure. And it was standing in the alley. When Cole got close, however, he took a sharp breath of surprise.

It was him.

A duplicate of him down to the tiniest detail.

But there was a sickening change.

There were cuts.

Cuts on his arms.

Cuts on his legs.

Cuts on his face.

And he was grinning madly, looking at Cole with a grin.

He stood there in a pause of surprise before the Agramon demon that sported a twisted version of him leapt and threw him to the ground. Cole evaded deftly the knife in it's hand, rolling on the ground and leaping to his feet. As surefooted as a cat, he dodged to the right and watched as his doppelganger lifted itself back on his feet and, happily, grinned at him. It was frightening to him.

Cole wasn't sure how he got there but he had finally pinned the demon beneath him and, hearing the flesh tear as it gave way to the metal, was stabbing down with his seraph blade.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He didn't dare look down and the cuts he had gotten from the fight didn't sting until he realized that he was kneeling in a pool of ichor and blood. Then, rising to his feet numbly, he looked back at his tutour and smirk before heading back down the alley. He had stopped against the wall on the way back to catch his breath when, the next thing he knew, he was in the Infirmary.

Still, it didn't hurt but he hated the cuts on his palms.

And he wondered why the demon of fear changed into himself.

Even though he already knew why.

 **~~ _And through it all, h_** ** _ow could you cry for me?_ ~~**

 _Pain:_

 _Much like fear, Cole thought of pain as a switch._

 _You could feel it. Or not._

 _It was up to the person to decide._

 **~~ _Cause I don't feel bad about it._ ~~**

Cole had expected to be accepted into the Shadowhunter Academy.

Not only was his family a well off, rich family, but he excelled in his studies and was excellent in daggers. And, when he did finally travel to Idris, he found himself proud. He had grown smug and prideful of his blood in a materialistic kind of way. Even so...everyone seemed to hate him.

So he hated them too.

Never doing anything terribly bad, he controlled his temper and was dreadfully disliked everywhere. He knew he was the reason for being disliked, as he was nosy and smirked at people who were trying to get through to him, but he would dismiss them. He didn't care if they got hurt. Hell, he didn't care if he did well. It was only important to him that other people hurt too and that they fell down.

So everyday at school, he would get his way.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until it felt like his life was on a repeat roll of the same animation skipping and playing over and over again, except, each time it played, it got a little more twisted every time. Bribes turned into threats and he threatened to kill people. Regular thirteen year olds shouldn't have threatened people with death. But he did and he found himself with enemies that were much stronger than he was. But he didn't care because as long as people were scared of him, believed him, respected him, or hated him, he had the power over everyone.

And he wanted to be great.

Some older kid named Mason seemed to always have a problem with him. Some twins there always seemed to be avoiding him. And this other girl, Bella, had seen right through his mask. He was sure.

But then he made a mistake that every great leader had made.

And every single letter that he got from his foster parents made it harder to write because they only saw him as he was the day they left. When he was ten. And innocent. And thought of nothing besides the infinite possibilities of knowledge. He didn't care what they thought of him...He didn't think...but he blocked it out and wrote back seemingly nice letters though he felt otherwise.

The Academy had taught him to be wary. That he should be a fighter.

And so he lost the ability to trust.

And he found that, because of his pride, he had started to slip and he had to catch himself from falling.

He felt exposed.

And weak.

 **~~ _So shut your eyes_ ~~**

 _Weakness:_

 _The flaw of human nature._

 _It had to be the very essence of what human nature was._

 _Cole thought about the Agramon demon and the cuts on his arms._

 _He was scared of weakness._

 **~ _Kiss me goodbye_ ~~**

"If you weren't so weak, then you could have won." His tutour hissed. "And now you made a fool out of yourself."

Cole glared at him, though his real expression was guarded. He had grown used to covering everything. He was used to hiding the thing, the insatiable want for terror and chaos within him. He often told himself _corruptio opti est mortem_ because it was what he truly felt. That corruption was the best death. But he shook off the thoughts and instead went to tending his wounds.

"Get up." His tutor snapped. "Use an iratze. Then get to the training room."

Rising to his feet, Cole grabbed a stele, sore from his most recent fight that was part of his test at the Academy. He turned off the pain, though, and headed to the training room where he had become most comfortable. He still detested his tutour.

But he continued, through blood and sweat, to train.

 **~~ _And sleep. Just sleep._ ~~**

 _Corruption:_

 _Cole thought about the word._

 _To others, it meant evil._

 _But to him..._

 _It meant change. A good change._

 ** _The hardest part's the awful things that I've seen._**

"Cole?" His foster mother opened the door of the Oslo Institute. "Are you here?"

Walking from the training room with his tutour at his heels, Cole glanced uninterestedly at his foster mother. "Oh. It's you."

For a moment, her mouth opened and she looked relieved that he was well. Hurrying to him, she threw her arms around him in a motherly hug before pulling back. Smiling, she took his shoulders in her hands. " _Mon dieu_. You're so tall." She speculated, seeing that he was almost her height and she was quite a tall figure. "I've sent you letters...but I'm so sorry that we couldn't bring you back earlier, but your father and I-"

"You're not my parents." He said neutrally, looking at her like he didn't even know her. "Besides, I'm not moving with you again. I have my next term in a few months and it'll be a distraction. One, I might mention, that I hope to avoid."

She looked startled, frowning. "My. Don't they teach you any manners in here?"

"Look, _mère,"_ he said in a mocking tone. "I need to go study. I have a test after break is over."

"Study?" She looked over at the tutour. "What is with him? Has something gone wrong?"

"Nothing has gone wrong, I assure you Madame L'Reaux. He's a Shadowhunter and their ideals have gotten through to him." He said calmly and Cole scowled at him. "Don't worry about his attitude. He's always like that."

"Well I never." She said, looking at Cole. "You ought to get straightened up. And learn your manners again. What kinds of things do they teach you at the Academy?" She announced rhetorically. "He never used to be like this."

Cole raised an eyebrow at her stupidity. "I was ten when you last saw me. I'm fourteen now. You really think you know me?" He spat, ignoring her crestfallen look. Suddenly, she looked older and tired, though she was only in her late thirties. "Just go. You're wasting your time here. In fact, you should be proud. You did always want me to be studious and in the Academy, didn't you?"

She held her hand to her mouth and blinked. "Cole. For over two years, I took you in when no one else could. Your father and I gave you everything we had-"

"No. You didn't. I have everything I want." He laughed in her face. "I have money, thanks to my real parents. I have everything I need. It's your fault for taking me in."

"Cole-"

"I have a test." He said, stepping back. "And I need to study."

"Well, that's that." The tutour said, heading to the door to open it. "Madame L'Reaux?"

She cast Cole a hurt glance before going to the door. She paused abruptly in front of the tutour, her eyes blazing. "You didn't train him." His foster mother said. "You broke him."

And with that, she waked out.

It was the last time he ever saw her.

 _ **~~Sometimes I see flames~~**_

 _Trust:_

 _A forbidden action. A stupid action._

 _He didn't want anyone to trust him, for they would get hurt._

 _Then again, what the hell?_

 _He liked it when others hurt._

 **~~ _And sometimes I see people that I love dying_ ~~**

It hadn't been long after he turned fifteen that he was kicked out of the Academy for 'blackmail' and 'violence'.

Moving to the New York Institute had been where he thought he was going to get a fresh start, but he found himself wrong. He supposed that time of moving was the first time when he really started to lose himself.

Because he started feeling distant and smug. Too smug for his own good. And he didn't think twice before wanting to make others hurt. Pain was interesting and he'd sit there and laugh at other's pain like it was a show and they were a comedy. He still didn't like the messiness of blood so he'd force it on their mind with threats and his own taste of fear. So he'd finally be heard. And it'd feel like all his thoughts were floating away.

Again.

And again.

And again.

As the months passed by, it was difficult to regain solid ground.

So he made playthings and manipulated people because it was fun. Sheer fun. Until he realized that his thoughts and actions weren't covering up his real self like a mask. He found that it was his real self trying to come out. And he'd sit there thinking to himself because the only person who would listen would be his reflection. So he'd sit there. And he'd know exactly what he wanted and exactly what he was going to do.

 _You want others to feel your pain._

 _What pain?_ Cole asked himself, and he laughed. He had spent three years just restless in the New York Institute. _I have no pain._

 _You want others to feel your pain._

So he just took out another knife.

He knew he had grown careless, but he didn't really give a damn about anything at that point. Not when that Mason guy from the Institute was putting him on trial. Not when the only thing that could stand his presence was some little blonde girl he had forced to work for him. Not when he had given up his pride and become a werewolf to escape the power of the Mortal Sword. And not when he was poisoned by a faerie drug.

He just...didn't care.

And he knew it was cowardly.

Ridiculous.

Weak.

So he hated it with a passion.

And kept sharpening his knives.

Again.

And again.

And again.

 **~~ _and... it's always..._ ~~**

 _(Blank):_

 _He didn't have a label for what he felt._

Something wrong with me _, he thought. There had to be something wrong._

 _And his breath would hitch when he felt it._

 _And it felt like pain._

 _Real pain._

 **~~Just sleep. Just sleep. Just sleep.~~**

The day he had faked his death had been one of his favourites.

People in the Institute were shocked.

He hid in the walls and in empty rooms, watching their display of surprise. But, as expected, most of them were happy. Or glad in some form.

So he had some sort of perverse enjoyment watching Stephanie become upset over his 'death'. Since she was the only one who would be, he supposed he might as well enjoy the feeling of being lost and mourned. He doubted his foster parents even knew of what had become of him.

" _Look_ , _mère,"_ He wanted to say to his foster mother. _"I dealt with things properly. Isn't that what it's all about? Acting our level? Well, I've acted mine."_

He had visited Stephanie a week later in secret, of course, telling her that he wasn't dead and that he'd be heading to the Downworlder Towns. He gave her strict orders not to come to the Downworlder Towns...He didn't fancy her getting hurt there-...or, of course, giving him away and everyone finding out that he had faked his death. That was the second to last thing he wanted.

 **~~Just sleep. Just sleep. Just sleep.~~**

 _Stephanie "Steff" Tide:_

 _He supposed some things were better left undefined._

 **~~ _Wake up_ ~~**

Cole sat.

He was alone.

In a Tavern.

And he felt lonely.

He thought it perhaps was the quietness getting to him.

And so he bought a drink.

And dwelled on why he was lonely.

When he found the answer, he found himself unsatisfied with it.

And the old feeling returned; the one he could not place.

His breath hitched.

So he took another sip of his drink.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until something in the alcohol unlocked something.

A word.

The word for the feeling.

Suddenly, he wasn't so lonely anymore.

But he lost it as soon as it was his.

And the quietness returned.

 _ **~~And I can't... I can't ever wake up~~**_

 **OKAYYYY. I wrote this in (checks clock) four hours.**

 **Whoops.**

 **That took longer than I thought.**

 **Well...Yeah...Okay.**

 **Byebies.**


End file.
